


Habit

by lyvanna



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Derek Needs To Use His Words, Dubious Consent, Emotionally Repressed, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Miscommunication, Protective Scott, Scott is a Good Friend
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-20 22:19:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyvanna/pseuds/lyvanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles agrees to be Derek's heat-partner in what seems like mutually beneficial arrangement. No feelings, just sex. The problem comes when Stiles decides to break the deal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this pre-S3 so Derek is still living in the Hale house, Jackson is still around, people who die in S3 are still alive, the Alpha pack are nowhere to be seen etc.

The first time it happens Stiles is all fumbling fingers and hands that seem too hot. Even with Derek taking charge and answering his hesitations with purposeful movements he still felt like he had no idea what was going on. He'd been lying back on his bed double checking tomorrow's homework when Derek had come in through his window and a few minutes later he'd been stomach-down feeling a tongue pressing into him in a way that he'd only just discovered about in porn. He was willing, but confused. He'd had a good time, coming with a shudder over his sheets and shoving his face into his pillow to muffle the cry he let out, but it had been over so quickly that by the time Derek was re-buckling his belt Stiles still couldn't quite believe it had happened. Had he even seen Derek's dick? His brain, usually running a mile-a-minute, seemed to have short-circuited. So it was helpful really when Derek had said, “This doesn't mean... It's not more than it is,” the intense look he'd worn through the whole process wavering just slightly. Stiles guessed he should have felt hurt but all he felt was relieved (and pleasantly relaxed). He'd not had time to process anything so Derek laying it all out there, setting the boundaries up early, had helped pull things into focus for him. 

Over the next few days he'd thought about it. Almost constantly. He'd had time to be elated and hurt and confused and offended. And angry. But he was good as compartmentalising. Derek had recognised that similarity between them and that was why he'd chosen him. At least that was what Stiles guessed because they didn't exactly do a lot of talking about anything other than what felt good in the moment and what didn't. So he found that when he saw Derek again a few days later when he and Scott were following a strange light through the woods (evil fairy it turned out) he didn't feel anything. Not even the huge irritation and need to annoy that he usually felt when Derek was in his presence all brooding and begging for mockery. Needless to say Derek gave no indication that anything had happened between them either.

The second time it happened he did explain a little more. About heat cycles and urges and other stuff that made Stiles feel like he was sitting through a biology class that made you feel both horny and a little queasy. He was actually surprisingly uninterested for someone with such an inquisitive mind as his. But the sex was better. A lot better. He might have done a little research. As they continued it almost seemed to turn into a competition to outdo themselves from last time. They grew more attuned to what each other liked. But it still all remained within the confines of Stiles' bedroom, when his dad was nowhere around. Outside of those walls with school and lacrosse and Scott they barely saw each other at all. Maybe Stiles started mapping out cycles on his phone, but he told himself that was just to make sure he had enough condoms and lube. 

The fact that, by the way Derek explained it, this was something that the Alpha couldn't control, bothered him a little (a lot). It didn't draw clear lines between them, he wasn't sure if mutual advantage was being taken or if they were both victims of some stupid werewolf biological need. Derek's reticence when they were together in other circumstances even made Stiles wonder how much he remembered of the events themselves. Maybe he was out of it the whole time, controlled by his heat. If Stiles was the only one who could remember it all, who had his wits about him, did that make him the worse person. The fact that he didn't bring it up with Derek, for fear that the other man would cancel their arrangement, pointed that way. 

He'd thought that Scott or one of the other wolves would smell it on him, even with the extra scrubbing he put in in the shower afterwards, but no-one mentioned anything. If it wasn't for the soreness and the odd bruise he might have started thinking that he was having monthly hallucinations about really hot sex sessions. The one change that Scott does notice is that his interest in Lydia seems to cool off from rabid at her very mention to just mild swooning in her presence. To be wanted, if only a purely physical way, by someone else gives him a little more confidence, calms his stuttering personality down a little. He still pines for her but it's in a more relaxed, accepting way. He's lost his desperation. And it turns out that works for him. Not with Lydia, who is still completely Jackson's in a way he doesn't deserve, but with other girls. He finds himself with a date for a party. Then another. A kiss at New Years. A girl to dance with at a club. Getting thrown out of the cinema with Naomi from Chem and going to the one-and-only meeting of the school chess club for the sake of Tara. It's all girls. Not that he doesn't find a few of the boys attractive objectively but none of them really manage to do it for him. Neither do the girls actually, not in that special way that Lydia does. But it's fun. And normal. Sure it's the kind of normal that feels like nothing at all. But it's good to be distracted from being hung up on someone he can't have by being with people who actually like him. And despite all outward appearances he's patient. 

Once he allows his mind to wonder if Derek also dates and if he does where he takes them, what they talk about. Then he shuts that thought back up in the box where it belongs in a place in his head that he tries to pretend is far away as he does with most thoughts about Derek that occur outside of his bedroom. He's patient. 

He doesn't mean to say anything to Derek but it kinda comes out during a post-coital moment when his mouth is a little more relaxed than usual, his mind a little less controlled. 

“Hey dude, do you realise we've been doing this for like a year now?” 

The moment he says it he wishes he could cram the words not just back into his mouth but down his throat and into his stomach. Derek is sitting on the edge of the bed with his bare back to Stiles, pulling his shoes back on (before his shirt, of course). He stills and Stiles feels his own heart slamming into his chest as he curses himself. The words seem to echo needily in the room like Stiles is expecting Derek to whip out a box of chocolates and a card as an anniversary present. He considers talking over the echo, filling the space between them with words to make his last statement disappear in the muddle, but his mouth has dried up and the boxes in his head are all opening up at once and holding down his tongue. 

Finally Derek glances at him over his shoulder, not quite meeting his eye but acknowledging that he's heard him at least, “Is this still ok?” 

“Yeah! Yes dude it's..” Stiles stops himself from talking and Derek returns to his shoes. He's gone a couple of minutes later. 

It's deja vu and the feelings are coming back again. The ones that he's worked so hard to hold down. He makes a valiant effort, thinks several times that he's managed it, then ends up leaving the dinner table early to come upstairs and punch at his Derek-scented bedclothes and scrape a few angry tears from his eyes. 

He has sex with April two weeks later. 

In Lydia's house of all places. During one of her legendary parties. They had been on a few casual dates before but Stiles had thought there had been mutual interest loss until a little too much alcohol at the party had them both fumbling through coats and expensive sheets. 

And it's a revelation. Not that it really equates with his other experiences, it's a bit unfair to compare, but the revelation is that he can have sex with other people. He knew that before of course but somewhere in his compartmentalising he'd not realised that he'd forgotten to draw a line between sex and sex with Derek. Up until this point that whole experience seemed to belong to Derek in a way he hadn't really realised. Because he was his first. His only. Because he could calculate at any point when it had happened last, when it would happen again. Because he could see no other hands but his and Derek's on his body. They were a fixed point in his mind that he'd forgotten to lock away. 

And doing that with someone else, even though a haze of alcohol, had released those bonds from his mind. And if Derek noticed any difference the next time they hooked up he said nothing. Which only made things more guttingly freeing. Stiles looked around with new eyes and those eyes caught on Jane, the small mousey-blonde girl he sometimes fought with in the library over who'd take out a book first. They went out. They dated. Kissing. Blowjobs in his jeep. And finally sex in his bed. A bed with fresh sheets but still too many memories. But he likes her. And something starts to niggle at his stomach, that something is holding him back still. 

Which is how he ends up walking up to Derek's house, alone, a week before their usual meeting time. He had thought about waiting so as to keep their little arrangement purely within the confines of his bedroom but that wouldn't be fair if Derek needed to make other arrangements... if he needed to find a replacement. He tried to think of that purely in terms of employment, of someone providing a service for Derek, but that was pretty stupid only made him feel like his stomach was leaking acid. 

It was quite a balmy evening with a sweet breeze just pushing into his hoodie at the neck. The sun had almost disappeared from the sky and nighttime insects were already buzzing around happily. He'd just reached the bottom step of Derek's house when the door swung open to reveal Derek in his suspiciously white vest and black jeans. 

“Hi,” Stiles said, smiling slightly. Derek's expression relaxed a little, he'd probably been expecting some kind of drama as that was usually the only reason that Stiles appeared at his door, “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” Derek turned and walked back into the house. Stiles followed, automatically flicking the light switch as he got over the threshold to no effect either due to lack of electricity or lack of a lightbulb. It wasn't so dark that he couldn't see but he knew he was at a disadvantage to Derek. He followed the wolf into the front room that had acquired a sofa, coffee table and armchair that all looked out of place in the crumbling surroundings. 

Stiles flopped down on the sofa but Derek remained standing. He crossed his arms over his chest, “So?”

“Uh,” Stiles sat up a little, “Look...” he looked down at his hands, making the motions of inspecting his nails even though he could barely see them in this light, “About our arrangement,” he hears Derek's feet shift on the creaking floorboards, which isn't very stealthy for a supernatural being, but he keeps his eyes trained downwards, “I've started seeing someone so I--” 

Derek was suddenly standing in front of him and he'd not heard any movement at all this time. It knocked the wind out of his lungs a little to look up into that intense, scowling face but he forced himself to do so as he continued, “I think we need to stop,”

“You've seen other people,” Derek said, expression not changing. 

“Yes,” Stiles acknowledged. Questions were forming at an alarming rate in his mind. Questions about how Derek knew that. And something more important that he couldn't quite put into words at this particular moment. “But this is different, I guess I like her, and I don't feel right..” 

Derek's fingers clench. It's a small movement that Stiles normally wouldn't notice except his hands are right in front of his face. He takes a time to speak, or maybe it just feels like that, but finally he says, “Ok,” so softly that Stiles just barely hears. Then he's gone from Stiles personal space and is standing over in the doorway restlessly as if he wants to leave. The brief feeling that he needs to comfort Derek pops into Stiles head and he squashes it with horror. To be a break up there has to be something to break and he's worked meticulously, sometimes long hours, on making sure that he feels nothing for Derek because that was what Derek wanted. No, that was what Derek had told him to do. Told him not to take this seriously, told him that it was just some werewolf thing, told him not to feel hurt if he dropped him when he found a better arrangement. Stiles had done all that and he wasn't going to feel like an asshole for it. He stood up slowly from the sofa, stretching out his limbs like he'd been there for a while and not approximately five minutes, and tried to catch Derek's evasive eyes in the darkness. No such luck. 

“Right then. Just thought I'd let you know,” he said, more to have something to say than to reiterate his position because he was fairly sure Derek got it. He walked towards the doorway and Derek shifted away, moving back into the room to let him pass. He was almost out the front door when Derek said,

“Yeah, thanks Stiles. For...” his voice was matter-of-fact, maybe a little irritated, but not full of any of the things that Stiles had been imagining in his silence. Sometimes the mystery of Derek Hale was just too much to take. And sometimes it was better when he kept his mouth shut and let you think better of him for it. 

An emotion escaped from Stiles' box, and that emotion was anger. Anger that he couldn't even really pin down but anger that burned at his stomach and tightened his throat. But he kept walking, didn't look back and made it to his Jeep without saying another word. He punched a text to Jane into his phone, making a date for the following weekend, a day he'd had marked in his calendar for months to be set aside for Derek. Then he slowly deleted all the future dates, each highlighted in green on his calendar. He didn't know if he felt relief or loss when he looked down at the blank spaces now. Freedom. He started the Jeep and drove off slowly through the woods, the potholes on the track keeping him from thinking of anything but driving. 

Seven days later and Stiles was buttoning up a dark blue shirt. They'd done numerous casual dates and a few parties but this time he was taking Jane out to a proper restaurant. If nothing else his nerves would distract him. And it wasn't as if he felt hurt or any of those things he wasn't allowed to feel. A week had gone by and he'd found himself to be surprisingly ok. Too ok probably so a night of distraction was just what he needed. The sound of the window being lifted sunk his heart. 

Derek was standing there inside his room in a tight black henley, jeans and scuffed sneakers, looking agitated and staring at Stiles' clothes liked they had personally insulted him. Just another insecurity to add to the list. 

“Uh, hi,” Stiles said, smoothing out his sleeves, “Is something up?” last thing he needed was some werewolf drama this evening. Derek took two stilted steps towards him then stopped, lurching a little like his body was fighting itself, “Are you ok dude?” Stiles dropped all irritation and stepped forward. Derek really didn't look all that well, little beads of sweat were covering his forehead but his lips were dry and cracked. He took Derek's arm and pushed him down onto the bed, only thinking moments later that the chair might have been better. Derek's eyes tracked from where Stiles was holding his bicep and up to Stiles' face. Stiles let go, “Aw crap, this isn't another arm amputation situation is it? Why always me dude? You've got Betas now for this shit,” he turned and grabbed his phone from his desk ready to call up the first one he saw in his address book. 

“No,” Derek said, and although a little strained his voice sounded mostly normal. Stiles turned to look at him again, lowering the phone. 

“Then...what is this?” he gestured around the room. 

“Stiles, tonight--”

“Yeah, I know what night it is,” Stiles interrupted, irritated, “but I thought we'd agreed that this was over,” it turned out that the anger wasn't gone after all, it'd just been waiting patiently for Derek to appear again, because even to his own ears Stiles sounded mightily pissed, “so, what is this?”

“I couldn't...” Derek looked at the floor, trapped and a little pathetic.

“Couldn't find anyone else? I guess looks really aren't everything then. Still don't see how this is my problem,” Stiles did see how it was his problem. Or at least a problem he currently had. But he was going to make Derek work. Finally (finally) he had Derek in a position where he might actually get some answers out of him and he wasn't going to waste that. 

“I couldn't,” Derek continued, “do this with anyone but you,” 

There are no thoughts in Stiles head. Literally no thoughts. It is one giant flatline. Derek looks up at him from the bed, finally meeting his eyes, his chest rising and falling a little quicker than before. And Stiles has nothing to say to him. He opens his mouth but there are no words there so he closes it again. The phone in his hand buzzes with a text and he barely reads Jane's name before he puts it back down on the table behind him clumsily. Finally, as if his expression hasn't conveyed it enough, he says, “I don't understand,” and with those words his legs give out a little and he sits down on his chair. 

“It's.. habit,” Derek shakes his head a little at the word and Stiles is glad because it sounds awful, “No... I don't know. Look... when I came here that first night I just knew you would help me. That you were... I didn't expect you to offer to do it again but when you did it felt..” he closed his eyes for a moment and skirted over the word, “it was good. Safe. And I know I said we'd stop whenever you wanted and you gave me a week's notice but... if I'd known last time was the last time...” 

Stiles hadn't expected Derek to talk for so long, or with actual emotion, so when he stopped it took Stiles a moment to process it all. 

“So... you came here for one last time?” he stood up, “Sorry if I'm confused but... You told me it meant nothing. Repeatedly. You went whole meetings without even looking at me. Sometimes I wouldn't see you for weeks. And now when I'm taking the out that _you_ gave me you're not taking no for an answer but creeping up to my room to demand sex like some fucking control freak,” he can feel his anger spiralling out of control but _fuck_. 

“No,” Derek protested, propping himself up on his elbows to get a better look at Stiles, “It's not... all of that stuff was true--” 

And that is fucking it. Before Stiles had wavered over to the pissed-off side of his emotions but he'd still been pretty confused. Confused no more. He strode over to the window and yanked it open. “Just leave,” he snapped. Derek swayed up into a seated position and pushed down against the bed to get up looking green but determined. This was still a problem. Stiles cast his eyes out into the night for a moment then slammed the window shut, “Actually, second thoughts, fine, lets do this.” He started unbuttoning his shirt. 

“What?” 

He slid the shirt off and hung it over the back of his chair in an attempt to keep it wrinkle-free. Derek blinked at it, confused eyes travelling slowly from the chair, across Stiles' chest and up to his face. 

“You heard me,” Stiles attempted to school his face into stillness but realised that wouldn't be convincing for a werewolf, so he stepped forward, a softer look in his eyes. And whether he was an excellent actor or Derek was seeing what he wanted to see the werewolf let out a shuddering relieved sigh, his whole body sagging a little, and Stiles' step almost faltered. Despite his increasingly sick look Derek stood from the bed and surged towards Stiles who froze at the sudden movement. He slid his hands against Stiles' sides, rough and intimate, and pressed his face into Stiles' neck, breathing in hotly. It was more frightening, and more tender, than anything that had ever gone on between them in this bedroom. He felt Derek breathe against his skin, fevered, shuddering breaths that tickled down his bare shoulders and raised the hairs on his skin. The sound of the window opening behind him drew a growl that Stiles could actually hear rise from the depths of Derek's chest to his mouth, his hands tightening on Stiles' waist, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. Then Derek wasn't touching him anymore, the absence causing a strange ache considering it was the first time they'd touched in that way. That wasn't important though. Stiles scrambled into action without looking behind him, racing to his wardrobe and pulling down the box on top of it that fell at his feet with a heavy thump. He turned and took in the situation. Scott had somehow manoeuvred himself between Derek and Stiles and both were snarling at each other, eyes flashing. 

“Derek,” Stiles breathed. The Alpha's eyes flickered to him and Scott took his opportunity, rushing the bigger werewolf and slamming him to the floor. Stiles grabbed the chains from the box at his feet and scrambled over the bed to help Scott hold down the Alpha, who after his sudden burst of strength now seemed sapped and sickly again, save for his throat, which was in full growling order. Scrambling, Stiles took out a little wolfsbane powder from his bedside table and blew it in Derek's face. Lydia had worked hard at recreating that one. The effect was almost instantaneous and Derek's eyes flickered red then closed. Scott reeled backwards, waving a hand in front of his face as some of the powder rose in the air,

“Dude,” he complained. Stiles grinned at him,

“Sorry,” 

“So, do you want to explain what's going on?” Scott asked, eyes taking in Stiles' state of undress and flashing angrily. 

“Lets get Derek chained up first,”


	2. Chapter 2

Despite the extreme awkwardness of the explanation and the several minutes where Stiles genuinely thought Scott was going to slash Derek's throat as he lay there unconscious, Stiles still went out on his date. He thanked the gods that he'd thought to make it a double-date with Scott and Allison to cut the awkwardness (and the check) because otherwise he wasn't sure what he'd have done with Derek. Not that he was afraid of him anymore. At least not in the same way. But remembering that Scott was about to turn up had calmed his mind enough to deal with his situation. Maybe Derek had been about to leave... he had barely had time for a pang of guilt looking at Derek's limp body though as Scott bundled him back up into his shirt and forced him out the door to meet Jane, all while texting Allison furiously. 

To say his mind was elsewhere was an understatement but he still went to a nice restaurant, and managed to restrict himself to just ten or fifteen texts to Scott making sure that he'd moved the Alpha out of his room and that he hadn't 'castrated him with your dad's bolt cutters' like he'd threatened. He hadn't got some at the end of it. In fact he'd almost forgotten to kiss her goodnight, but she had seemed suitably impressed by the surroundings, occasion and his sudden ability not to hog the conversation to be put out. 

When he got home he wasn't surprised to find Scott lounging on his bed setting up a game of Mario Kart. Stiles flopped down next to him and picked up the second controller. They played a couple of games in silence, Scott jabbing at the buttons a little too hard, before Stiles decided to go for it, “So, you didn't take Derek off and kill him then?”

“What?” Scott asked, swerving and frowning as Stiles overtook him.

“Well.. I noticed the lack of blood – by the way thanks for tidying up dude, best friend forever, it's actually kinda suspiciously tidy in here, my dad will be asking questions – so I guess you didn't actually 'rip off Derek's jerking hand'” he said, recalling another of Scott's threats.

“No,” Scott said tightly, frown deepening on his face, “Do you care about his jerking hand?”

“No,” Stiles answered easily, tilting his whole body as he took on a corner. Eventually Scott relaxed enough next to him to crack a smile when Stiles' lost a race mid-way through crowing about his inevitable victory. But it took a good ten minutes. 

When he felt his friend loosen up he tried to think of a way to bring up the subject again but his own mind was so confused the questions kept forming and reforming in his head. Did he care if Derek was ok? And if so was that just curiosity, human decency, or something else? Now that Scott knew it was as if all the dividing lines had evaporated. The parts of his life that he'd worked hard to keep separate were now terrifyingly mingled. It put things into a new perspective but didn't make them any less confusing. He still couldn't quite process what had happened tonight in his room. Derek's words replayed in his head, jumbled and out of order. And the echo of anger still reverberated around his body though it was now much less focussed. He realised, with a sad stab in the gut, that he was being pathetic. He'd been out tonight with a beautiful, funny girl who actually spoke to him and was happy to be seen with him in public, maybe even call him her boyfriend. And all he could think of was the guy who treated him like shit and ignored him 95% of the time. No amount of amazing sex was worth that. And yet... it had been amazing. And it was hard not to think that was because they were good together. 

Stiles' heart clenched and he crashed out. Instead of gloating Scott gave him a side-long look, then put a gentle hand on his shoulder. Stiles sighed and flopped back onto the bed. After a moment Scott followed him, “Dude, if you want to talk about it...”

The concept of 'it' whirled confusedly around in Stiles head. What was 'it'? Scott clearly was envisioning some kind of sexual advantage taking. Some abuse of power. And maybe he was right. Except it would be easier to categorise it that way. Easier to say that Derek had intimidated. That Stiles was just a bystander. Stiles wouldn't have spent so much time hating himself then. Hating himself for wanting the wolf, for holding himself at night and getting off to the memories of their time together, for catching himself glancing at Derek desperately during meetings hoping for some sign that their connection existed. Maybe it wasn't abuse of power but it was a headfuck that Derek had performed on him quite expertly. Whether meaning to or not. Now that Scott knew... it was as if he could finally look at the situation head-on. And he still felt like anger was the easiest response. Anger and a restless need to confront Derek again. 

Scott sighed, “I took him to Deaton's ok?”

“What?” Stiles blinked, woken from one confused train of thought by another, “Why?”

“I didn't want to lock him up at his house. That thing is so broken down he could easily escape. We..” he hesitated, “We locked him up in one of the dog cages,”

“You _what_?” 

“One of the big dog cages,” Scott amended defensively. Stiles wasn't angry. Just amazed. And a little... 

Scott looked startled when Stiles started laughing, but soon they were both creased up, shaking the bed with their mutual amusement. Stiles imagined Derek crammed into a tiny dog cage, looking miserable. And when the amusement faded he found the words, “Can I go see him?” tumbling out of his mouth like traitors. 

Scott froze for a second then his face changed from one of a amusement to one of concern, “Why?”

Stiles tried to straighten out the sheets under his feet, socks slipping on the cotton, as the need to answer honestly fought with the question of what honesty would be and the now hard-wired impulse to lie whenever talking about Derek. But it was Scott's face, when he could finally bring himself to look at it, that broke him and caused him to say, “I don't know,” Scott still watched him, concerned, “I just... I know what it looked like tonight. And I'm pissed too,” he added, as the memory actually caused Scott to growl, “But it feels like... unfinished, y'know? Like maybe if I spoke to him outside of the uh,” he felt a flush blossoming on his cheeks, “cycle, and maybe if he was forced to listen and respond...” 

It sounded a little crappy now that he said it out loud, keeping Derek locked up so he was forced to respond. Part of him didn't care, wanted the answers. And part of him knew he could do that and Derek could still not answer, could still sit there staring at him in unknowable silence. 

“Stiles, it's finished. He won't bother you again. I won't let him,” Scott's eyes flashed and his hand gripped Stiles' wrist instinctively. 

“I know dude. I'm not..” he wanted to explain everything to Scott as he had for the last seventeen years but it was difficult. Difficult to explain the attraction. To Derek and to the pain that Derek caused him. Hard to explain that sometimes the pain Derek gave him felt like the most deserved thing in the world. Hard to admit that he might still like someone who could do that to him. That even when someone spelled out in neon that you meant nothing to them you could still crave their touch. “I want to see him,” he said finally. Scott sighed and Stiles felt the break between them. He vowed to explain it to his friend, vowed to make him understand. Someday when he understood it all himself. 

“You want to go now?” Scott asked warily. A smile broke, unbidden, on Stiles face, because Scott truly was the best of friends. 

“Nah, lets wait until morning. Make sure he's really pissed when I see him,” he nudged against Scott's shoulder gently, “Thanks,”

~

When they got to the vet's it was still early, the sun still painting the sky lighter shades of orange. A night of Mario Kart and junk food had devolved into an uneasy couple of hours of sleep ending with Scott kicking out at a dream with a whine and Stiles tumbling onto the floor, his back gaining an interesting Wii controller shaped bruise. Scott opened up with his keys but when they got inside they found Deaton was there filling out some paperwork.

“Morning boys,” he said calmly, crossing something out with a definitive strike of the pen. It hadn't really occurred to Stiles last night but the fact that Derek was locked up here and Deaton was here inevitably meant that... He felt himself blushing. Well, the secret was well and truly out now then. He glanced at Scott who had the good grace to look a little embarrassed as well, scratching at the back of his neck. “Are you here to see the patient?”

Deaton's lip twitched a little as if he was holding back a smile and Stiles can just imagine how much Derek would have enjoy being called that all night. 

“Yeah, Stiles wants to..” Scott wasn't forced to make up some lie as for what Stiles wanted to do as Deaton just rose from his chair with a nod and gestured for them to follow him. Scott gave Stiles a resigned look, as if he'd been hoping he'd change his mind before they got this far, and followed after Deaton into the back rooms. The first cages they came to were small, not big enough for a person, and Stiles felt a little spike of nerves. But at they continued walking they reached bigger cages with mesh doors that reached up to the ceiling, easily big enough to fit a person. He saw Scott tense in front of him before he saw Derek. The Alpha sat on the cool concrete floor, knees drawn up to his chest and eyes closed, in the cage furthest from the door. 

“Good morning Mr Hale,” Deaton said in that way he had that said he as laughing at you while his face remained calm and professional. Derek didn't move. Deaton touched Scott's shoulder, “Perhaps we can give them some time alone,”

“No,” Scott gritted out, not moving, eyes fixed on Derek.

“I assure you, the door is quite werewolf proof. If it wasn't I doubt he'd still be here right now.” 

Scott glanced back at Stiles who couldn't take his eyes off the Alpha, but nodded all the same. With much coaxing from Deaton and promises of a swift return from Scott the two finally left the room, shutting the door behind them after some final louder protests from Scott. 

“Uh,” Stiles cleared his throat. Derek's eyes shot open and fixed on him instantly. Suddenly this seemed like the shittiest thing you could ever do to a person. Stiles felt like a jerk for not immediately getting the keys and letting Derek out. He shuffled a little closer, but his feet were uncertain and he found himself entirely too interested in glaring at them. He didn't like the feeling of towering over Derek so in one decisive motion he sat down against the wall. 

“Stiles,” Derek breathed, sounding entirely not like himself, before lunging at the bars. Stiles let out a squeak and swayed sideways but the bars held with a rattle. Derek's eyes glowed red for a second before returning to normal. Close-up Stiles could see that he still had the sickly look from last night, a cold sweat still misting his forehead. It'd never lasted this long before. But then again Stiles had usually been quick to satisfy his need. This was the first time in well over a year that he'd not gotten his way when he asked. Stiles felt his heart drop. He'd hoped to be able to talk to Derek, to understand, to finally get answers. But he'd been looking for the rational, moody, pissed, occasionally-sarcastic Derek. Not the heat-crazed Derek of last night. He looked at where Derek's hands were gripping the bars, knuckles turning white, and remembered how his touch seemed to have calmed Derek the night before. Tentatively he reached out and brushed the backs of his fingers against Derek's hand. The wolf shuddered and sighed, as if a huge weight had been lifted off him, and collapsed forward against the bars. 

Stiles called out for Deaton but Scott was first through the door. Beside him Derek growled but it was only a shadow of their confrontation from last night. Stiles tried to assure Scott with a look that everything was fine. Deaton walked past the bristling Scott and approached the cage. He bent to look at Derek and let out a rather unhelpful, “hmm” before straightening again. 

“How long is he going to be like this?” Stiles asked, fingers absent-mindedly stroking against Derek's. 

“Well..” Deaton mused, “Probably only a few more hours, but after that from what I've read he might still be weak for a few days,” his eyes crinkled with a smile off Stiles' look of alarm, “But still not as weak as you or I Mr Stilinski so no need to be too concerned,”

Stiles nodded his thanks and looked at Derek thoughtfully. He heard Deaton ushering Scott from the room again and waited for the door to click shut before asking, “So was all this about power then?” Derek raised his eyelids slowly, groggily, but Stiles wasn't fooled. Even in this state he'd managed to give clear instructions in the bedroom, “Derek..” he prompted, coolly. 

“No,” Derek choked out, his throat sounding dry. Stiles briefly considered whether Deaton had left him a doggy bowl for the night and craned around trying to see but couldn't catch sight of one. It hadn't been in the remit of questions he'd been planning on asking so he set aside that line of questioning for later. Instead he pressed on with, “What was that last night?”

“The heat it...”

“No, I know what the heat does. I'm talking about what you said I..” and here insecurity met curiosity and stopped his tongue. He was no closer to knowing if the unspoken thing he felt between them was a figment of his imagination or not. All those feelings he'd worked hard to lock down kept creeping up and bringing with them the words ' _if I'd known last time would be the last time_ '. His legs started to cramp and he sighed and stretched them out against the floor, cold even through his jeans. He kept his hand on Derek's, despite the fact that it felt agonisingly intimate. In his mind it was the connection, break that and maybe he'd never get an answer. And that was what was important. Push down any feelings, any hope. It was never going to happen. He just wanted to understand and move on. 

“Do you even like me?” he winced at how that sounded but ploughed on, his fingers now making circling patterns on the back of Derek's hand and neither of them were meeting the other's eye, instead both inspecting the floor, “I mean you don't speak to me outside of your... and even then it's.. you say that I'm just a habit, like going to a bad restaurant, or chewing on a pencil or alcoholism or something. And then I cut you loose of me and.. ok, I get it, I'm surprised _I_ was the one to do it too, but it always seemed like something you wanted, and you suddenly can't let go. Which I guess brings me back around to the power question again...” 

“Well, do you like me?” Derek asked, a little antagonistically. 

Stiles shrugged. And he honestly doesn't know. He thinks of how he loves Scott and his dad and how interacting with them is easy, so easy he doesn't even have to think, just say whatever comes into his mind safe in the knowledge that they'll listen or mock appropriately. With Derek he thinks, he plans, he strains, and he still doesn't have the slightest idea what's going on. Derek as a person is not something he's given as much thought to as he deserves. What does he like? What does he do (when not fucking things up)? His mind draws a blank. Little fragments exist... like the time he made a reference to _Iron Man 2_... or the time Stiles brought cookies to a pack meeting and he stared at them sullenly for a full hour before sneaking three off the plate at once. But these things don't mean intimacy. Knowing that he likes to sit on Stiles' dick and rock slowly until both of them are flushed and incoherent used to feel like intimacy. Now it seems insignificant.

Derek sighed and turned his hand so that their fingers were now touching, the soft pads now pressed against the palm of each other's hands. Stiles' heart thumped in his chest but his mouth felt too dry to talk. 

“Do you know...” Derek started, then stopped. His eyes were still trained on the floor. In fact he hadn't lifted them once since Scott had left the room last time. “I said habit last night because I meant it.” Stiles started to draw back his hand but Derek grabbed at his wrist loosely and Stiles didn't struggle, “But I don't think I meant it in the way you took it. Do you know why I still live in that house?”

Stiles looked up, startled by the change in subject, and his eyes finally met Derek's. His pulse fluttered traitorously. But he caught on quickly, “Are you comparing me to that crapshack?”

“No,” a frown that said perhaps he was, “Werewolves we--” Stiles rolled his eyes without meaning to. He hated when Derek, or Scott, or any of his supernatural friends, started 'explaining' werewolves to him as if he hadn't been surrounded by them for years now, as if he hadn't observed that most of their emotions were exactly the same as humans. They usually started doing it when they wanted to distance themselves from him. It didn't work. Derek continued, “... it was my home. The place I felt safe. It's different now. They reasons for that are all gone. But ok, it's _habit_ to stay there. When I used that word I don't mean that I can't be bothered to find anywhere else, or that I'm mystically tied to this place against my will. I come back there because for moments.. tiny moments in the day, it still feels like home, like shelter. And it hurts,” he stumbled over the word, half-swallowing it down, “but sometimes it's worth it, just to have those moments.” 

“So you're saying... I made you feel better and you hated that but kept coming back and--”

“I'm just talking about the house Stiles.” Derek shifted on the floor uncomfortably, “Just the house. I never hated... us,” another troublesome word, “I just felt... comfortable with you,” finally he seemed satisfied with his word choice because he nodded along with his description even as it made him frown, “and it takes a lot for werewolves...for me” he conceded, “to feel that way. It's dangerous,”

The unspoken 'because it gets taken away' hung in the air between them and Stiles understood. He didn't think their definitions of habit differed so wildly but he didn't feel quite so insulted by the word now. The undercurrent of anger he'd been feeling was dissipating even as he grasped for it to keep him sane. Derek hadn't felt nothing for him. He was the shadow of a good feeling. That small something wasn't enough. 

“So you're saying I should have weaned you off more carefully?” he asked, wary. Derek frowned and shrugged like he felt Stiles had missed the point but couldn't think of a better way of explaining things himself. Stiles knew his question was flip but he couldn't think of anything else to say. “I don't think I can do that,” he admitted, quiet and a little too vulnerable. He wanted Derek to see the meaning behind the words, to understand that this was his chance, that if he wanted more he had to say so, to admit that he didn't want that either. But if Derek read that in his voice, his pulse, his smell, he didn't say anything. Gently, but firmly, Stiles pulled his hand away, breaking contact. And maybe because Derek's gasp was so extreme, and echoed through the room, but Stiles felt the air close in around him as well, heat flushing his cheeks and making his hands suddenly clammy. He stood up stiffly and looked down at Derek. Tremors were starting to vibrate through him again, like the shivers of someone with flu, but he made no protest, only watched Stiles with red-rimmed eyes. It felt cruel to leave him like this but suddenly there was nowhere Stiles wanted to be less. 

He sat back down with a sigh, this time leaning his back up against the cage so he didn't have to look at Derek. 

“It's ok,” he said to the werewolf straining at his back, and that was all it took before a hot hand pressed against his neck and another pushed at the hem of his shirt until it found it's way underneath to the small of his back and smoothed hungrily at his skin. Stiles closed his eyes, resolved to catch some of the sleep he'd missed that night, and bit at the inside of his cheek once or twice to keep himself from crying. 

When he woke up the cage had been unlocked and Derek was gone. The instant his eyes opened Scott pressed a squirming puppy into his face and amid the jollity that followed the few tears that fell were easily lapped up.


	3. Chapter 3

He broke up with Jane a few days later. Which was very upsetting to everyone, especially Scott who looked at him in alarm when he told him then pulled him aside to give him a lecture about bad choices. 

“It's not because of Derek,” Stiles insisted, glancing around to make sure no super-hearing werewolves were about, “Or not in the way you think. I don't think we're going to get together or anything. Far... far... so far from it. But while this is going on I don't think it's fair to--”

“GOING ON?” Scott had almost screamed at him. Any werewolf in the school would have easily heard that so Stiles wrapped up quickly,

“Not like that. I mean while I'm distracted it's not fair to her..”

Scott shook his head with disgust and shot Stiles a 'we'll talk about this later' look as Isaac and Erica rounded the corner with curious expressions on their faces. 

Stiles wanted nothing less than to see Derek again any time soon but it was clear from last month's events that they were just on a countdown until the next heat and if they wanted to break this habit they better get on it soon. So in the few days that Derek was supposed to be weak and hopefully hiding in his house, Stiles went to Deaton after school and asked him, blushing and with feet scuffing and the floor, if he could help break whatever strange bond had formed between them.

Deaton had pursed his lips and regarded Stiles thoughtfully, “And are you sure that's what you and Derek want?”

“Believe me,” Stiles insisted, still eyeing the floor, “If you're imagining some big epic love here doc, think again.. Sorry, Doctor... It was a mistake that we both want to undo.” The word hung like acid on his tongue, all the worse because it didn't feel untrue. 

“Very well, I'll do some research,”

Scott had calmed down a little about the situation once he'd heard that Deaton was onto it but the first news of his findings had him scrambling to pull the phone from Stiles' hands and demand further details. Seems the only thing that Deaton could come up with was some kind of exposure therapy. Get Derek used to having Stiles around all the time and his desire at heat wouldn't be so strong. 

“Won't that just make things worse?” Scott demanded. 

“Once the heat cycle is contained Derek may be able to then control himself naturally without the help of Stiles.”

“May?” Stiles and Scott asked in unison. 

“Nothing is certain,” Deaton admitted, “But my research suggests so. And as a born werewolf Derek should have better control than most. I can only assume this is happening to him now because he was never expected to become an Alpha otherwise I'm sure his parents would have taught him...”

“So Stiles has to keep--” Scott started with a growl.

“No. Simple touch should be enough. You can come here, once every couple of days if you're both available.”

“Ok,” Stiles agreed. Scott shot him an angry look,

“You don't have to do this you know. Forget about Derek. He certainly wouldn't do the same thing for you if roles were reversed. You're going off to college in a few months. I'll kill him for you if you want,”

Stiles grinned at him, “I know you would. But just face it dude, some of us get to be supernatural heroes,” he gestured to Scott, “and some of us get to have a weird sex curse... you can't fight the cards you're dealt,” Scott looked like he was going to throw up a little at the idea of Derek and Stiles having sex so Stiles continued hurriedly, “Whose going to tell Derek?” he looked the phone but Scott said,

“I will,” with a finality that neither of them could question.

~

Stiles never found out Scott's method of persuasion, or whether Derek needed persuading at all, but they all ended up at Deaton's two days later after school. It had been easy enough convincing his dad that he was helping Scott out at the vet's, and after all it wasn't as if he couldn't come over and check if he wanted (his dad had pointed out). But the whole situation had been majorly awkward. Stiles wasn't sure what was worse, the way Derek hardly spoke to him at all, the way Scott stood guard with a murderous look on his face, or the way that Deaton checked in on them occasionally and walked around the table they both sat on, shirtless and back-to-back making hmming noises and one time even making notes on a clipboard.

That time Stiles had just had to break his silence with a “Oh come on!” which almost drew a smile from the inscrutable Deaton. Almost. 

After the first ten minutes or so the awkwardness had faded into boredom. He didn't feel the same heat from the skin-on-skin contact as he had before. It wasn't waves of lust, just tiny teenage-boy ever-present lust that was easy to keep at bay on a cold metal table with your best friend and various animals watching on. He'd have to remember to bring his homework next time or something.

“Hey can I get Geoffrey up here?” Stiles asked eventually. Derek tensed behind him but Scott relaxed a little and smiled. He opened up a nearby cage and pulled out the puppy Stiles had bonded with before, dumping the enthusiastic uncoordinated bundle onto his lap. 

“Good luck keeping him still though,” Scott grinned. Stiles flipped the puppy over and started tickling it's belly, coaxing out an excited yip and a sneeze. Deaton called for Scott's help with a patient and after a conflicted look at Stiles he left to go help.

Stiles let Geoffrey wiggle about on his lap, shedding masses of his long puppy hair, before the puppy decided it was much more interested in climbing his chest and licking at his face. He got in a couple of good swipes with his tongue before Stiles hoisted the puppy up onto his shoulder where it found something far more interesting to lick at. Stiles had almost forgotten he was leaning up against Derek's back, unmoving as it had been, until he was jerking away from him and Stiles was scrabbling at the side of the desk to remain upright, clinging to Geoffrey one-handed. 

“Ha, sorry dude,” he said quietly, righting himself and pulling the puppy back down onto his lap. 

“It's ok,” Derek murmured. And that was the extent of their conversation that day. 

That became their routine afterwards. They'd meet, exchange no pleasantries, and sit back-to-back while Scott sat in the next room and Geoffrey tried every method possible to escape from Stiles' grasp. The fourth time he finally made it. Digging his little puppy claws painfully into Stiles chest and launching himself over Stiles shoulder and onto Derek's lap with a triumphant bark.

“Motherfucking Batman,” Stiles observed, impressed, and then added, “Sorry dude,” to the werewolf who seemed to have gone even stiller behind him, if that was possible. Stiles examined the scratches on his chest. He felt more than heard Derek growl behind him, “Hey, he's just a pupp--” he started to protest but was caught short by Geoffrey's happy yip. What did he know about dog interactions? He tried not to sulk for the remainder of the hour as Geoffrey played with Derek, even coaxing a chuckle from the werewolf that he tried too late to turn into a cough. 

So then they had a new routine. They tried to share Geoffrey out equally but the puppy usually had his own ideas about where he wanted to go and sensing the awkward politeness between Derek and Stiles he took full advantage, finally executing a well-plotted escape which resulted in both Derek and Stiles breaking from their positions to chase him around the room as he barked like the happiest dog in the world. Scott came in and was so stunned by the situation he forgot to glare at Derek when the werewolf finally caught the puppy who immediately tried to soak his face his slobber. Derek handed the puppy over to Scott gingerly and hopped back up on the table. Stiles sent his best friend a grin before doing the same, settling in against Derek's back comfortably. 

Of course the next time they had to come Geoffrey was gone. Scott had already warned Stiles that puppy had found a home but it tugged stupidly at his heart to see Derek peering surreptitiously into Geoffrey's cage as he walked around the table. That's probably why he found himself saying, “Hey, dude, fancy doing something different this time?”

Derek looked at him wearily but nodded. 

“Um,” Stiles hadn't been sure what he meant when he offered and he was even less sure now. With a shrug and a sigh and sat next to Derek on the table, bumping their shoulders together, “Do you think this has been working for you?” he asked conversationally. 

“I don't know,” Derek admitted.

“Nah, doesn't feel like it's been working for me either,” Stiles agreed. 

“It's not that it hasn't been working.” Derek continued slowly, “I... I'm more used to your scent now, your heartbeat. It just hasn't changed the way I feel,”

Stiles really wished Derek hadn't mentioned the heartbeat thing as his was now going at a mile-a-minute. “Which is?” he asked. 

“Like I could fuck you right now against this table?”

Stiles started a chuckle, which then developed into laugh, which became breathless and shuddering and even worse as Derek tensed up beside him. But Stiles couldn't help it, all he felt was waves of relief. 

“Sorry... but....” he said between hiccups of laughter that continued to shake his body, “that's the first time you've said anything like that to me outside of your heat,” 

“Oh,”

“Dude,” Stiles wiped at the tears in his eyes, “You'd even fuck me with the gerbils watching?” he waved his hand towards the cages on the back wall. 

“Yes,” 

He said it so solemnly that Stiles felt the hilarity fading out of the situation. 

“And that's a bad thing,” he concluded. 

Derek shrugged. 

They spent the rest of their time together in silence.

~

The night before Derek's heat Stiles finally had some time off. Which meant frantically trying to catch up on a pile of homework (Scott, great friend that he was, had given him his to compare against) and TV while eating an entire pizza because his dad was working night shift. They already had the following night planned out, Derek would be locked up at Deacon's again way before sundown and the vet and Scott would observe his behaviour with Stiles on speed-dial (at his insistence) if he's needed. So somewhere between his second and third piece of Chem homework he decides it'd be a great idea to fall asleep on his textbook, sneakered feet up on his pillow and TV playing the last episode of Hannibal.

Cool nighttime air hitting his face woke him. The TV was off and a shape loomed at him in the darkness. Scrambling and knocking several books to the floor he turned on his bedside lamp.

“Derek, your heat isn't until tomorrow,” he said, sleep robbing him of any filter. Though he doesn't see why he should have one considering he's the one whose room is being invaded. Though his heart rate slowed considerably when he saw it was just the Alpha, something he wouldn't have believe even a few months ago when they were having athletic sex up against the wardrobe. 

“It isn't,” Derek agreed, a little embarrassed frown rippling over his face. Stiles had forgotten how much that word made Derek cringe. It might have been cute. 

“Then.. what's going on?” he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, “Is everyone ok? Scott?”

“Everyone's fine.” 

“Then you're here because...?”

Derek ducked his head a little as if he hadn't thought this far. Stiles dragged a hand through his hair, attempting to right it a little from where it was sticking up along one side of his head. 

“Oh for fucks sake,” he finally exclaimed, throwing himself onto his pillow and mumbling, “With you and Deaton there is only so much of this enigmatic broody monosyllabic shit that I can take,”

“I want you,”

It was quiet, but the words hung in the air. Stiles sat up slowly and looked at Derek. 

“And you're definitely not in heat?”

“No,” Derek looked at the carpet. 

“Look at me,” Stiles demanded and the werewolf did. None of the gruff exterior was there, only embarrassment and desperation, “Okay,” Stiles said, more to himself than anything. Because if that wasn't the look of someone who has it for Stiles Stilinski he doesn't know what is, “And no,”

“No?” Derek winces, taking a step back from the bed, his face saying that he's about ready to run over three county lines now through sheer mortification. 

“No,” Stiles agreed, “Not this close to your heat. Not when Deaton has been working on helping you to control it. If we do this and it doesn't work tomorrow I don't want to have that conversation with him. And Scott will probably fetch my dad's bolt cutters so... No. But--” he started when Derek was already half-way out the window, “--you can stay here. If you want. Get in some, uh, more platonic touching before tomorrow.”

He kicked off his sneakers and tugged off the hoodie he'd been sleeping in which was now smelling a little musty. Derek slid the window closed and awkwardly made his way over to the bed. 

“Awesome,” Stiles said nervously, working to find the remainder of his school work on the sheets and setting it in an untidy pile by his bed before pulling back the covers. Derek toed off his sneakers and tugged off his shirt. After a pause he slid his jeans off as well and climbed into bed next to Stiles. The whole thing felt stiflingly warm and awkward for a moment as they tried to find a comfortable position but Stiles finally settled onto his front, tucking an arm under his head, and Derek draped himself gently over his back. Hot breath tickled against his neck but he was glad to have the mattress to press his dick into as it was having a pavlovian response to having Derek pressed against him. As comfortable as it was and as tired as Stiles was he found his mind was now working a mile a minute. This was the second time outside of Derek's heat that he'd admitted he liked Stiles. Even in just a sexual way. The thought made his chest expand with hope before he reminded it that dating Derek Hale was a bad idea and that lust wasn't all it was cracked up to be, as evidenced by their last year together. And maybe that was all it was. Still it made him think, how could it not, because the idea of Derek being over his heat had started to become a point of confusion for him rather than relief. And if that was how he felt he couldn't imagine how Derek felt. Actually not knowing what Derek felt was a huge part of the problem and Stiles had to bite his lip several times to stop himself from asking right now as the werewolf shifted closer to his back, nose snuffling at his neck, already asleep. Best to deal with this after this heat business was all sorted out and things were clearer. It didn't help that lying here in Derek's arms was the most loved Stiles had felt in a long time, a feeling like coming home. 

Stiles woke up with a hand wrapped around his dick. Gentle but unmistakably there. He groaned and thrust forward once before realising what he was doing, dreams mixing strangely with reality. At his back Derek's breath hitched as he ground his own hard-on against Stiles' ass. 

“Derek,” he breathed, it was supposed to come out as a protest but there was more than a hint of a moan about it. Lust uncoiled within him like a heated spring so every part of his body right down to his toes felt suddenly hot. 

“Fuck,” was Derek's response before he let go of Stiles' dick and in one movement tugged down his boxers, hands roaming hungrily across the flesh of his hips before, clothes gone, he pressed back in, rutting against the curve of Stiles' ass, hands gripping at his hips tightly. His teeth scraped lightly at Stiles' shoulder as he moaned, “Fuck Stiles, so close..please..” a hand slid between Stiles legs and he pressed a finger up against Stiles' hole, testing with gentle pressure. If he hadn't been so coordinated Stiles would have wondered if Derek was asleep, the desperate begging tone in his voice showing just how close he was, pre-come slicking up Stiles' lower-back. He wondered how long Derek had waited, lying there hard in his bed, hand sliding over his own dick, trying to be quiet, trying to resist touching Stiles even as he pressed up against him, breathed in his scent. Thought of the moment when Derek had smelled the arousal on him, hadn't been able to resist touching him anymore, had felt his dick hard in his boxers with guilty hands. It shouldn't have been hot, shouldn't have made his stomach clench with want, but it did. 

“Derek, we can't..” Stiles breathed, not exactly sounding convincing to himself. Derek really was turned on by him. It wasn't just the heat. He pulled valiantly from Derek's grip and turned around on the bed because for some reason his brain was entertaining the idea of having a conversation about this situation. All of his brain function was stopped by Derek's mouth. On his mouth. He was kissing him. It wasn't that they hadn't kissed before, he wasn't charging extra for kisses on the mouth or anything, but it wasn't something they'd done often, and with good reason. It had felt too intimate to Stiles at least, and he suspected to Derek as well. When he was trying to keep his emotions out of their encounters it got in the way. Now Derek's stubble scraped at his chin as his tongue forced its way into his mouth. Demanding, breathless, kissing the protests out of him while his body twisted to line their dicks up together and he started to thrust against him, one hand lightly encircling both of them while the other cupped Stiles' face gently. For a couple of moments every bit of Stiles said 'fuck it' and his hips started to meet every thrust as Derek's mouth devoured his. But there was something bad about this if he could just remember... it had been so long, nothing with anyone else had compared to this. He clutched at Derek's back, his ass, urging him on, letting out a broken moan as Derek's grip tightened on each pull upwards.

The word habit broke in his mind, unbidden. This felt right, like that, but the word... 

With a gasp for oxygen he wrenched himself away from Derek, pushed off the covers and ran as best as he could to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He leant back against it and wrapped a hand around himself. He should have stopped there. Should have stepped into the shower or taken a few breaths. But the feel of Derek all around him echoed over his skin and pulsed against his palm. He set a fast pace, dragging his guilty hand over his dick with no style, just a furious need. Images flickered through his head, Derek's dick at his back, his hands squeezing at his flesh, teeth biting his neck. A couple of unsteady tugs later and Stiles was coming with a cry onto his stomach and down his legs. He stood, shuddering for a moment, catching his breath and feeling the satisfaction dissipate at lightening pace. Then with hands that shook cleaned himself off. 

When he came back to the bedroom the Alpha was looking at him with eyes that glowed and a low rumbling growl in his chest.

“Oh shut up,” Stiles said, annoyed. He found some sweatpants on the floor and pulled them on before flicking on the light. He knew it made no difference to Derek but it made him feel better, “What the hell was that?” he demanded, “I thought we decided to wait?” 

Derek's eyes stopped glowing and he tugged the covers up over himself a little defensively, covering the spot where he'd come on Stiles' mattress. 

“Is there some reason you wanted to sabotage Deaton's experiment?”

Derek's eyebrows met at the word 'experiment'. Stiles sighed in frustration and perched himself on the edge of his desk, crossing his arms. 

“I'm sorry,” Derek said, not sounding that sorry. His eyes were raking down Stiles chest and Stiles had a feeling his clean-up job wasn't as good as he'd hoped. 

“Fine.. just.. get dressed and go, we'll talk in two days,” Stiles indicated the door then on second thoughts the window as that seemed to be Derek's preferred method. The werewolf blinked at him, looking for all the world like he was going to protest and Stiles could feel all the questions from last night rising inside of him, argument brewing on the horizon like a storm. “If you still want to talk in two days that is,” Stiles started, doubt and anger a strange cocktail in his stomach as he felt his need to get answers growing. But of course Derek being Derek there was never an emotional need he couldn't leave unsatisfied or a conversation he couldn't abandon and just like that he was pulling himself out of Stiles' bed, tugging on his clothes and exiting through the window without another word, pulling it shut a little violently behind him. 

“Shit,” Stiles sighed, eyeing his bed and considering whether he really wanted to do laundry at this time of night. The word sabotage ran in his head a little more, because that was surely what it had been. After complaining about his unwanted compulsion to see Stiles, Derek suddenly seemed to be quite wary on the eve of getting rid of it. Was it the heat working extra hard to exert itself? Or was Derek being so stubborn as to not want it to work. Or something else. Stiles only wished that the best orgasm he'd had in months wasn't clouding his brain.


End file.
